


A Vineyard at Sunset

by dietgay



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: AND DOESN'T TAKE ADVANTAGE OF HIM, AND GUESS WHAT KIDS, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, ERNST LOVES HIM BACK, HANSCHEN LOVES ERNST, M/M, aka the american south, also, and hanschen is that lovable douchebag, and he's a huge huge shakespeare nerd, bc we all need a lovable douchebag, bc why wouldn't we???, ernst is a total music nerd too, he plays a couple instruments and it's so endearing, i'm really tired and need an outlet for all of my problems with organized religion in high school, it's set in a modern day shithole obsessed with religion, lol rip, oh and 'friends to lovers' bc that's my favorite trope ever., which means of course we're getting melodrama, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-05-24 19:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietgay/pseuds/dietgay
Summary: Ernst Robel is the beacon of Christianity for all the students at West Spring High School and holds small Bible study lessons every Wednesday morning in the school courtyard. Hanschen Rilow, a known threat to anything innocent and fun, starts to break up these meetings, only to find himself testing everything Ernst has ever stood for.





	1. Intro

Basically I love Hernst, and I love writing, and it's also the month of the gays. Also!! I can't write anything period, especially 1880s Germany, so we're dealing with the most religious, homophobic place that is still easy to understand for a lot of people. The yeehaw American south. I think this is my way of reconciling my past self with my present self, to be totally honest. The Ernst I'm writing here is who I used to be, and the Hanschen I'm writing is very similar to how I am now. 

Huh, we love a good philosophical revelation here on AO3. 

Anyway, I hope you guys like this and I _pray_ I have the conviction to actually follow through and finish it! 

Find me on Tumblr @ilikestarsandshit for some low quality content.

-mags <3


	2. o n e

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanschen is a living Adonis with inhuman charm and a few questions. 
> 
> Ernst is doing his best to please a God he's worked so hard to advocate for.
> 
> They were just destined to run into each other.

West Spring High School held about twenty-three hundred kids from ninth to twelfth grade, but many students discovered how to stand out in their own way, much like Ernst Robel. Ernst solidified himself as the school’s certified Bible-thumper by organizing its first ever Bible study club his freshman year. Initially, four or five people showed up each Wednesday morning. But this chilly September morning, Ernst spoke of God’s word to a mini congregation of over one hundred kids.

Many of Ernst’s sermons dealt with the New Testament and stories of Jesus’s miraculous feats and love for all. Love for all---his philosophy on life. He did his best to put up the image he had always dreamed a pastor should: the polished, smooth exterior, the kind heart, and the open hand. He knew the Bible back to front and he knew how to behave. He kept the smile on at all times. 

That smile was always genuine. Ernst Robel was one of those rare, beautiful people who really did love everyone he came into contact with. He couldn’t walk on water, but damn it if he couldn’t make some sort of difference.

“And that is why we must go out into the world and love. We love because He first loved us.” His words captivated the audience, which gathered in the courtyard because nowhere else in the school could feasibly hold them. All sat attentive like little soldiers with their legs crossed, eyes up, hands in their laps. “Jesus Christ loved us,” he said, “by _dying_ for us---by being tortured for days and hung upon a cross to pay for any sins we have committed, are committing, and will ever commit. All we have to do is extend a hand and keep an open mind. _We_ just have to love. 

“We don’t have the same commitment Jesus had. We don’t have to die to demonstrate our love. We really don’t have to do anything at all. So why do we all hate so much? How much would we have to _hate_ someone to ignore them and have them miss out on the Word of God and eternal life? No one deserves death, but the least deserving of them all gave His life, in love, for us. School hasn’t been going on that long; let’s all be a little more loving to each other, okay? Does anyone want to pray?”

Wendla Bergmann, a smiley, red-cheeked freshman nodded. Everyone bowed their heads and folded their hands without any sort of verbal cue. There was very little variation in how they all prayed; sometimes a pair of friends held each other’s hands, sometimes people moved to kneeling, but all generally held the same position. As Wendla prayed, her quiet, timid voice somehow reached the whole of the crowd. Unconscious smiles broke out everywhere, even for Ernst. This part was probably his favorite, listening to someone else proclaim their love for God in front of everyone. It made him feel slightly less alone in the world, which is all he needed.

She closed out her prayer with an “Amen,” and everyone repeated it back to her. With a quick goodbye from Ernst, the army of believers and skeptics stood in unison, dispersing in a million different directions. Some of them waved to Ernst on their way out, but most of them continued on with their lives as if he hadn’t been there at all. Such is high school, he thought to himself. You’re only as important as the moment you live in.

He sat on the grass and stuck his Bible in the front pocket of his bookbag. This morning’s notes went in a blue folder dubbed the “Grace Book” in a different pocket. On Wednesday mornings, Ernst lived in his own world void of other people or concrete thought. Most mornings, actually. His actions belonged to him alone and represented no one but himself. Not the people who listened to him, not those who didn’t, and certainly not God. He tried his best, but every week his confidence failed him, for he knew somehow he had disappointed the god he worshipped. 

“You have a real way with words, Ernst,” said a pair of red sneakers appearing right in front of Ernst’s backpack. For a moment, he refused to acknowledge the voice as he was almost certain the sneakers had the wrong guy. He continued packing up his Bible things and getting out his calculus homework, which he had yet to finish.

“Can you hear me?” the sneakers asked again. Ernst looked up at the body attached to them and was met with a pair of eyes he could only describe as “unwelcome.” They were deep and dark and invasive, and Ernst couldn’t help but find himself stuck in the bottomless pit they made. Those eyes belonged to a face similar to that of Michelangelo’s David, soft and solid stone. 

Every junior at West Spring knew Hanschen Rilow’s name in some capacity. No one could tell you why or how he got popular--he was in zero extracurriculars, kept to himself most times, and had slightly above average grades. But somehow he lurked in the background of every important moment, and he liked it that way. Everyone knew him but no one acknowledged him. Everyone liked him but no one loved him. It was a safe system to abide by. 

Hanschen laughed at Ernst’s surprised and dumbfounded expression. “I said you had a way with words, but I guess I’m going to have to take that back.” 

Another thing about Hanschen Rilow: he was arguably the most self-concerned person on campus. Perhaps the reason he kept to himself all the time was that he thought no one was worthy of associating with him. His head was high, but his standards were higher. It made absolutely no sense, since Hanschen almost always looked and acted like he’d just woken up. He wore the same faded skinny jeans and red sneakers every day, only ever really changing sweatshirts. Today’s was grey, red, and blue striped. Ernst distinctly remembered him wearing the same one on Monday.

Maybe it was some alien, unexplainable magnetism that spurred everyone’s fascination with Hanschen. Ernst didn’t know why he felt himself so drawn to the kid, but he could safely hope that everyone else felt the same way. He carried himself like a living Adonis underneath the parts of him that weren’t so polished, and Ernst was mesmerized by him.

“Uh, thank you,” he finally replied. Hanschen took those words as an invitation to sit on the grass across from Ernst, resting his elbows on his knees and wetting his fingers with the morning dew. He decided that today, Ernst was worthy.

“Is that--” Hanschen motioned to the spot in the courtyard where Ernst had just finished preaching. “Is that a normal thing you do?”  
Ernst’s eyes flitted between Hanschen’s eyes and where he was pointing. In a moment, the character was back. “Yeah, every Wednesday. You should definitely come more often and see how God is working in the school. It’s great.” He tried to subtly end the conversation by working on derivatives, but he couldn’t make the pencil connect with paper no matter how hard he tried. 

“Well, aren’t you a bad boy?” Ernst blushed, refusing to look back up at Hanschen. “Preaching about God at school in front of impressionable children is an establishment of religion,” Hanschen said, twirling his fingers in a blade of grass. “Prohibited by the First Amendment.”

“Actually,” Ernst said, still looking down at the first problem in his textbook, “the Supreme Court allows religious clubs to meet during school hours because it’s an expression of the students’ right to the freedom of speech.”

The corner of Hanschen’s mouth lifted in a devious smirk. “Really. And, uh, what case was that?”

Ernst confidently made eye contact with Hanschen Rilow for the first time. “Good News Club v. Milford Central Schools,” he said without a moment of hesitation. “Decided in 2001. A six-three decision. Ruled that the club’s ability to express their ideas was being discriminated against when the school wouldn’t let them hold club meetings in the building during school hours.”

Ernst could see the shock Hanschen tried to hide. You can’t stop someone who knows about what they believe, he thought. He always made a point to be sure he believed something before he said it.

“I started the club by myself two years ago,” Ernst continued, his confidence placating, “so I had to do a little research. I wanted to provide a space for people who believed in God or wanted to know more about Him to gather and learn a thing or two. You know, uh, if their parents didn’t believe in Christianity or something like that, they have a safe space where they can express what they believe without fear.”

Hanschen’s pupils might have dilated at that moment, but Ernst couldn’t quite tell; his eyes were so dark, he wasn’t sure there was any life in them at all. Did Hanschen have any life in him? 

Ernst gave up on his homework and closed his calculus textbook, conceding that Hanschen wouldn’t leave and he was stuck there. He wasn’t entirely opposed to the thought of a new friend, though, since he had so few. 

“That’s noble of you.”

Ernst kind of shrugged and packed everything back up into his bookbag, having accomplished absolutely nothing. “I wouldn’t call it noble,” he said simply. “Just common sense.”

Then the bell rang. Neither Ernst nor Hanschen stood up from the grass to get to homeroom. People passed the scene on their way inside and couldn’t help the confusion of seeing yin and yang on the same plane, speaking to each other. It was what you might imagine God and man walking together to look like; the portraits of humility and ego hung next to each other on the same wall. 

“Ernst, we’re in seventh period together, correct? Let’s talk again this afternoon.”

“Oh, no. I wish I could, but I have church tonight, so I’m heading that way immediately after school.” He stood up and nodded his head at Hanschen in farewell.

“I’ll walk you,” he said, standing to his feet. Ernst froze in his tracks. 

He had no reason to decline. Well, no logical reason other than that he was awkward with people. He was scared Hanschen would catch him staring too long, which he sometimes did when talking to people. Especially those who were considerate---maybe not considerate, maybe curious---enough to take time out of their morning to talk to him about God. It was a nice conversation. It made him feel worthy, but still he felt fear.

“You, you will?”

“Yeah, I want to talk to you about _doctrine._ Oh, and I can help you with your homework too, so you don’t interrupt me so rudely with it tomorrow morning. Where are you going now?”

“Calculus,” he replied, looking down at his feet in shame. 

Hanschen snorted and walked off with an unmatched swagger, missing a definite answer to his question. Ernst didn’t have to say a thing for Hanschen to know he’d stay back after seventh period.

Ernst noticed that his backpack hung off one shoulder lazily, pulling the collar of his sweatshirt down over his shoulder. He caught his head tilting in the same direction as the collar and the backpack, silently cursing his immodesty, and had to stop his eyes from following the path of Hanschen’s muscles. The living Adonis with the unwelcome charm, Hanschen Rilow, had succeeded in grabbing his attention. 

He wondered what sort of “doctrine” Hanschen wanted to discuss after school. Surely he heard what he had to say earlier and had some questions. Surely. There was a looming voice in the back of his mind screaming mistake, but Ernst tried his hardest to shut the idea out of his mind. Maybe he’d finally have a friend to talk to. Maybe he’d save someone. 

For his own sake, he could only hope so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter one. She's short. We love her anyway. 
> 
> They should get longer as I get more and more into the swing of writing. It's been over six months since I've actually sat down and typed something out, and even then they were just one-shots. I'm kind of excited about this? I plan on sticking to it. ;)
> 
> Uh, thanks for reading. Please give feedback, positive or negative, so I can know what's up. Just let me know, k? 
> 
> Love you guys! See you when chapter two is uploaded!
> 
> -Mags <3


	3. t w o

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanschen and Ernst talk about "doctrine," and each gets a small taste of who the other is.

Doctrine. _Doctrine._ The word haunted Ernst all day long. Surely someone like Hanschen Rilow wasn’t really going to ask about anything of the sort. He didn’t care, and he made sure everyone knew. Sitting two rows over from him in seventh period, watching him, he refused to believe that Hanschen really wanted anything to do with him. Or Him. 

Hanschen sat on top of the empty desk behind him, leaning his elbows on his knees, his feet in the chair in front of him. He looked rather annoyed to be there, but still, every time Mr. Sonnenstich asked a question, Hanschen answered in total confidence without raising his hand. And every time he did, two or three students gave him the strongest glare of contempt, but the teacher fawned all over him. 

Everyone else worked so hard to get the validation Hanschen Rilow did with half the effort. He looked so at ease as if everything came naturally to him. If Ernst didn’t have such a kind heart, he’d hate him too. 

All he could do was pray that Hanschen actually wanted to talk about God. 

“Ernst Robel,” called Mr. Sonnenstich. Every head snapped in Ernst’s direction, including Hanschen, who definitely caught him staring. Hanschen giggled at the eye contact before Ernst noticed and looked at Mr. Sonnenstich, trying his best to hide the bright red blush on his cheeks. 

“Ernst,” Mr. Sonnenstich repeated, “tell me everything you know about Achilles.”

“Uh, o-okay,” he responded, racking his brain for any information on him. Last night’s homework had nothing to do with Achilles; this was Latin, not _Greek._ “He’s one of the strongest Greek heroes of all time.” Ernst spoke in a fever, speaking so fast that his words almost blended together. “His mom was immortal, and she dipped him in the River Styx when he was a baby, making him almost invincible except for his heel. He was the main Greek hero in the Trojan War.” He blanked. He sputtered out unintelligible syllables, trying to find something else to say.

Mr. Sonnenstich stared at him, disappointed. _Anything_ to say.

He took a quick look at Hanschen, who looked less apathetic than normal. He had a slight furrow in his eyebrows despite the permanent smug grin stuck on his face. Hanschen opened his mouth, about to finish for him. Is he trying to ruin me? Ernst thought.

“Achilles’ biggest accomplishment was,” Ernst spat out, beating Hanschen to the line, “uh, what was it?” Hanschen shrugged and smiled, seemingly like he liked watching Ernst struggle. In a miraculous revelation, Ernst seemed to find the words in Hanschen’s invasive eyes. “It was killing Hector during the Trojan War.”

Mr. Sonnenstich smiled, finally pleased with Ernst. “And do you know why he killed Hector?”

“Because h--” Hanschen began, instinctively trying to show off.

Ernst cut him off. “Because Achilles’ friend Patroclus went into war in Achilles’ armor, and Hector killed him, thinking he was actually Achilles.”

Insistent on getting a word in, Hanschen followed up with, “And when Achilles finally killed Hector”--he glared at Ernst--”he dragged his dead body around the walls of Troy.” Ernst looked at him again. The grin was still there, now met with a wink and a playful wave. 

The teacher cut both of them off with a wave. “Thank you, Ernst.” He paused. “And Hanschen. In the next month, we will begin reading _The Aeneid_ , which focuses on Pious Aeneas’s journey following the Trojan War. Tonight, you will read the chapter in your textbook on the Trojan War, which follows the stories of Helen and Paris, Achilles, Hector, and ultimately, Aeneas. I expect the translation for Section 1 due tomorrow.”

Everyone started packing up their things, anxious to go home. The faster they got home, the earlier they could start their homework. The earlier they could start their homework, the earlier they could finish. The earlier they finished, the earlier they hoped to go to sleep. The earlier they slept, the longer they could sleep. The less coffee they needed in the morning to stomach through another day.

When the bell rang, Ernst watched everyone rush out of the room, including Hanschen. He was more embarrassed than anything, expecting Hanschen to stay. It was probably another one of his mind games, just like the one he pulled during class today. Trying to make him look stupid. Ernst didn’t know what Hanschen planned to accomplish. World domination or something, but it wasn’t good. 

_God,_ he prayed silently, _give me the strength to deal with Hanschen Rilow. If it’s Your will to put him in my life, then I’ll do the best I can._   
With a newfound energy, Ernst put on his backpack and left the room. He went to follow his normal route, out of the fifth wing and behind the school, down the street to the church. But before he could make the first turn, he heard a melodramatic cough behind him. He turned and saw Hanschen sitting leaning against the wall outside the classroom door.

“Ahem,” Hanschen said, walking up to Ernst. “I _cannot_ believe you were about to abandon me. I promised you I’d walk with you.”

Again, Ernst was more embarrassed than anything. “I saw you leave, so I didn’t think you’d stay,” he said, his face growing hotter.

“I don’t break promises,” Hanschen said, pushing his hair back, “but when my body _promises_ me that it needs to piss, I help it out. I came back.” 

Ernst scrunched his nose in disgust. “Sorry, then. I didn’t mean to leave you.”

Hanschen smiled, taking the lead and walking in front of Ernst. Ernst followed blindly. “I know. Now how sad would you be if we skipped church today?”

Ernst stopped dead in his tracks. “Hanschen, what are you talking about? You told me you’d walk with me to the church. We were going to talk about _doctrine_.”

Hanschen turned to face him and crossed his arms. For the first time, Ernst noticed three charm bracelets on his arm. Strange. “We still are,” he said. “I just--”   
He looked down at the floor and traced one of the tiles with his foot. His voice dropped to almost a whisper, and Ernst strained to hear it. 

“I just feel a little weird about doing it in a church.”

Ernst was floored. He didn’t expect any sort of vulnerability from Hanschen, especially over something so simple and routine to him as walking through the door of a church. He would’ve thought he was being tricked, but there was something genuine in his voice that made him stop and think. Ernst had the attitude of a preacher: kind heart, open hand. 

“Uh, okay,” Ernst said. He started vomiting out his words again in that nervous fever that came on him whenever he was put on the spot. “Would my house be okay? My parents work till eight so it would be just us and we could talk and you could do your homework and I have food at home if y--”

“Yes.” Hanschen laughed in between breaths. 

“My car is in the church parking lot, though. We’ll have to walk there to go get it.”

“As long as I don’t have to go in, I’m fine.”

“O-okay.”

The walk to the church was fairly silent because of the awkward situation which had just transpired. Hanschen and Ernst walked like soldiers next to each other; the altar boy and the sycophant took the same sidewalk. No one was around, but Ernst still felt the sharp gaze of judgement pressing down on him from every direction. 

He wondered silently how his study group would think of them for associating with _the_ Hanschen Rilow. The hated, lazy, unsophisticated Hanschen Rilow who played teachers’ pet to get attention and undermined almost every student at West Spring. His preacher image was in danger. 

Jesus walked with sinners, he thought. He walked with tax collectors and prostitutes, and the least I can do is walk with Hanschen. 

It was a selfish way to think, but Ernst didn’t know. His faith was too strong in his God that he had no faith left in himself, the people around him, or Hanschen least of all. He trusted so falsely, but it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better. 

“Which car is yours?” Hanschen asked when they got to the church. 

Ernst pointed at a modest black car with one of those pine tree air fresheners hanging from the rearview. He unlocked it and said, “Let me tell someone inside that I won’t be there tonight, okay?” 

He was about to walk off when he looked back at Hanschen, who was standing strangely in the parking lot, his hands stuffed in his pocket. Ernst threw him the keys. “Uh, just start the car,” he said. “Turn on the AC if you want, change the radio station. Do whatever you want. Just don’t drive off without me.” He managed a half-genuine laugh before he ducked inside the church.

Hanschen, on the other hand, walked over to Ernst’s car and examined it. It was absolutely spotless, which was to be expected by someone with his head so far up his ass he couldn’t stand to see any more shit. The inside was clean, too. Hanschen thought of his own car, which was at the mechanic because the ignition switch locked up on him. That was an embarrassing ride home from school with his father. 

He started the car up and was immediately blasted with a rocket of cold air. “Shit!” he yelled before covering his mouth. He’d forgotten he was in a church parking lot. With his free hand, he turned the air conditioner down to low. “Jesus, Ernst,” he said, his voice now at a low whisper. “Are you hiding Satan in your car or something?”

Hanschen normally talked to himself, mainly because he couldn’t really stand talking to anyone else. The only one who really _got_ what he was saying was himself. And when he did shows at the community theater, the best way to practice his monologues was by giving them to himself in the mirror and gauging his own reaction. He was terrified to go out and talk to new people; he was assertive and overall unapproachable, so he scared most people off. 

The strange thing about Ernst was the fact that he didn’t run off. Hanschen definitely did not expect that. He expected Ernst to dismiss him for being “different” like anyone else in that church would have done so fast. Hanschen couldn’t help but to feel he was being pitied. He turned on the radio to drown out his brain.  
“You can’t be serious,” said Hanschen, chuckling to himself. “Fucking classical music.” 

Bach’s Prelude in C Minor played like cannon fire over Ernst’s radio. Hanschen snorted laughing because it was just _perfect_. Of course Ernst Robel would be the person to blast Beethoven on the way to school and Chopin after church. He was the poster child of innocence and light, the beacon of hope to everyone lost at West Spring. Hanschen bet that half the people who went to his cult meetings on Wednesday mornings couldn’t tell the difference between him and Jesus. 

Hanschen was still laughing at Bach when Ernst sat down in the driver’s seat next to him. “Hanschen--?” he asked. “Why---why are you laughing?”

“You listen to this shit, that’s why,” Hanschen replied, wiping a stray tear from his face.

Ernst put on his seatbelt and sighed. “Debussy’s on pretty much every morning.” He looked Hanschen in his deep, invasive, so dark, teary eyes. He was breathing harder in an attempt to contain his laughter. A loud and fast-paced Prokofiev piece started playing, taking the confrontation to a whole new level of comedy. “He calms me down, I guess. Turn around and tell me if I’m going to hit a car.”

Ernst drove out of the parking lot without any trouble as Prokofiev’s Toccata filled the car with an energy so out of place. “You’re a little weird, Ernst.”   
“You’re a little weird,” Ernst fired back without thinking. He kept his eyes on the road, his hands on ten and two, and his back straight. Hanschen thought it was disgusting. He loved it.

The rest of Toccata and one Chopin piece later, Ernst finally parked in his garage. His house was modest, just like him and his car. A small cookie-cutter house in a big suburban neighborhood that didn’t really stand out in any way. Hanschen felt strange shutting the car door behind him and standing in a stranger’s garage, however unimportant that garage was. 

Ernst unlocked his front door and waved Hanschen inside. “You want anything to eat?” he asked. “Anything in the fridge or the pantry is fair game.”

The inside of Ernst’s house looked like an exorcism had been recently performed. Crosses and Bible verses about any and every affliction, trial, or virtue lined the walls. Hanschen felt more like he was in a church here than he would have in the actual church. 

“No, I’m not hungry,” Hanschen lied. 

“Well, you’re eating _something_ ,” Ernst replied with a cheery home-with-a-guest tone, opening the fridge. “You like grapes. We have an ungodly amount of grapes.”

Hanschen fought the urge to say, “Ungodly? I’m in!” and instead said a quiet, confident, “Sure.” Ernst pulled a full bag of red grapes---yes, the good ones---and walked off down the hallway. Hanschen followed.

When they got to the hallway, things got interesting. 

“Could you hold these, please?” Ernst asked. Hanschen cradled the bag of grapes in his arms like a small baby. He preferred the soft crinkling of the bag to the loud, frantic afternoon classical Ernst played in the car. Ernst reached for a handle on the ceiling. Hanschen knew one of two things was happening: 1) Ernst had an attic bedroom, or 2) he was about to enter the largest Jesus shrine in the western hemisphere. Hanschen thought of the good choice.

Hanschen audibly gasped when he saw that Ernst had to jump to grab the handle. He didn’t notice that Ernst was so short, but now the height difference between them was all he could see. Ernst was tiny. It was almost cute. _Almost._

“Are you making fun of me because I’m short?” Ernst asked, concerned. He huffed, like he was used to getting the criticism.

“Absolutely not,” Hanschen said, and that was not a lie.

What was even cuter was Ernst’s attic bedroom that, thankfully, didn’t look like it had seen any recent murders. Several instruments were scattered across the floor---Hanschen could make out a cheap electric keyboard, a guitar, two ukuleles, and what he was almost certain was a cello. Because of the lack of ambient lighting in an attic, Ernst had hung fairy lights everywhere that they could possibly be hung in all the colors of the rainbow. Right in front of the window, there was a bright orange hammock swinging softly from the air of the box fan. 

He had a wall floor to ceiling of books. Just books, lots of them, from Shakespeare to Poe to John Green. He also had a huge bed with fluffy, white sheets. Jesus, he lived in a dreamscape. 

No, there was no “Jesus” to it. There was no Jesus at all. No Bible verses on the wall, no crosses, nothing of the sort. This bedroom was an escape from all of it; Hanschen, strangely enough, felt the tension in his shoulders and his jaw melt away. 

“Uh, y-you can sit anywhere you want.” Ernst sat down on his bed, back to his nervous, stuttering self again, which was a huge relief. Hanschen immediately jumped into the hammock. “Get comfy.”

Hanschen spread out in the hammock and plucked grapes out of the bag one by one. “You’re a real person,” he said, absolutely amazed.

“Uh, yeah? What do you mean?” 

“Like, you go to school, you’re perfect, you have the perfect attitude, you’re nice to everyone, you always look like you spent hours getting ready, you praise Jesus, and then you come home to _this._ You read books that aren’t the Bible like normal people. And you can play guitar?”

He points to Ernst’s guitar, which is covered in smiley face stickers. Hanschen noticed a deep blush form on Ernst’s face. “I tried,” he said, “four times. I still haven’t gotten it. That’s why I got the ukulele.”

“Play me something,” Hanschen said. 

“N-No!” Ernst yelled. “I don’t play in front of people. I get nervous.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just play for me. It’s nice to have something all to myself when my entire life is out on display at school.”

The air stiffened with silence. Ernst kind of stared down at his feet while Hanschen continued to eat grapes. The former took the lull in conversation to think. He didn’t really know how the potential friend thing worked. He met Hanschen Rilow today, but he had already brought him home. It was a little weird. Was that what friends did? They were in his bedroom. To talk about _doctr_ \---

“So I told you I needed to talk to you,” said Hanschen, gazing up at the ceiling. “About---”

“Doctrine,” Ernst spat out in a hurry. Hanschen furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and looked at him, who was still bright red. Did Ernst ever stop blushing? “You used the word ‘doctrine,’ not me.”

“Right. ‘Doctrine.’ Well, you preached this morning on loving everyone. It was nice. You sounded very professional and adult. Did you write that yourself?”

Ernst sputtered. “Y-Yes.” He stiffened up his shoulders. “I did.”

Hanschen sighed. The wheels in his head started to turn. He wanted to see how far Ernst’s faith went, whether it started and stopped in school or if it translated everywhere. Hanschen wanted to know if he could break him. He twirled the charm bracelet on his arm.

“You advocate loving everyone? Like Jesus did?”

“Yes,” Ernst replied, much more confidently. Hanschen sensed him slipping back into his preacher mentality, and he didn’t know if he liked it.

“What about me?”

“Of course.” Ernst’s tone was more serious than Hanschen had heard all day. More serious than in the courtyard in front of a hundred people, more serious than when the two spoke this morning, more serious than when he battled with Hanschen over Achilles in seventh period. “He loves everybody, sinner or not.”

Hanschen took a deep breath before word vomiting like Ernst. “Okay, let’s do a hypothetical: a boy walks into a church, where they preach about how God loves everybody and we should ‘love our neighbor.’ And the people there find out that he likes boys. Sometimes he kisses these boys. They don’t care that the boy kisses girls too. They just focus on the boys. And they tell him that God hates his ‘lifestyle’ and that he shouldn’t be gay or he won’t go to Heaven.

“And then he goes to school, where kids wear crosses on their shirts and carry around their Bible like it’s their math textbook. Their Instagram bios are ‘I heart Jesus!’ or something like that. And they hate him too for _whatever reason_. They just don’t like the way he acts sometimes. And _they_ find out that he likes boys too. Sometimes he kisses them, sometimes he kisses girls. They don’t care. They tell this boy that he doesn’t deserve to live. Not only can he not have eternal life, he’s not worthy of the finite one he’s stuck with. He kisses boys. He’s been told to die.

“Tell me, Reverend.” The two stared at each other for what felt like an hour to both of them. A fiery intensity suffocated them. Hanschen stopped to breathe. “Does God love that boy?” 

Ernst breathed. He breathed and he searched Hanschen’s invasive eyes for any hint of trickery. He found none. He also, strangely, found no sadness or regret. He found nothing. If anything, he found a hue of arrogance in Hanschen’s eyes. 

“Does God love that boy?” Hanschen repeated. He popped another grape in his mouth.

Ernst smiled as he spoke, trying to put on that preacher tone of his. “Yes.”

Hanschen stopped breathing. He closed the bag of grapes and placed it under the hammock. He wanted Ernst to crack. He hoped to God he would. If he had just said no, Hanschen’s game would have been much easier. He would’ve won.

“No shit,” Hanschen said.

“Yes sh--- yes way,” Ernst said, correcting himself. “Most people take what they want to believe from the Bible and run with it. It’s personal bias, not religious conviction, that makes people believe that they can judge other people. Uh, James 4:12---’There is only one Judge, so who are you to judge your neighbor?’ 

“People suck. They do. But God is the only judge that matters.”

“So God’s judging me for my sexuality, but He still loves me. Uh huh.”

“H-Here,” Ernst stuttered. It was a welcome relief to Hanschen that the stutter was back. He knew it meant Ernst was back, and the reverend had disappeared. “You’re in a relationship, and you really like the guy, or girl!, and h-he or sh-she says something totally stupid. Yeah, you judge them, but that doesn’t make you love them any less. I try my best not to judge, because I have my own problems to deal with that are just as bad anyway. We all do.”

The silence returned with a vengeance, almost forcing Hanschen to reflect on what Ernst just said. He was so pissed that what he said actually made sense. It kind of made perfect fucking sense. Ernst was fucking _perfect._ Would he still go to Hell for being gay? 

He didn’t ask the question. After this, he didn’t really care.

“Okay,” Hanschen said after a moment. “I’ll take it.”

“C-Cool.” Ernst smiled at him, and Hanschen finally took full inventory of Ernst Robel. 

He’d seen him in class before, but he never really noticed how special Ernst Robel might be. He looked like a little Mormon in his preacher clothes, which he wore pretty much every day. But almost ten hours since the morning, his hair, bright red and glittering in the fairy lights, had fallen and messed up. The cuffs of his button-up and his left hand were stained all over with blue ink. He had a naive disposition, but after what just happened, he seemed to know more than Hanschen had originally thought. 

He didn’t show his teeth when he smiled. His eyes looked sad. Hanschen felt a pull in his chest, one he couldn’t quite place. 

“Hey, you wanna come over t-tomorrow afternoon? We don’t have to get religious or anything; we can just… chill?” He chuckled, and his shoulders shook with his breaths. Hanschen noticed that too vividly.

“I’d like that,” Hanschen said, nodding. To shield himself from anything unnecessary, he added, “You’re a good _friend,_ ” at the end. Maybe one of them would fall for it. 

“Alright, nice! I’ll give you a ride home.” Ernst was down the attic stairs in a second, visibly excited to have a new friend. Ernst fell for it.

Both Hanschen and Ernst were excited, actually, each for the same reason. They were free. They had a friend. That was a first for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is _much_ longer. I'm starting to flesh out their characterizations a little more fully, but feedback is very appreciated to make this as good as I can be! 
> 
> I'm getting a little deep in Chapter 2, don't worry about it. It's going to get much more lighthearted (and much sadder maybe hA) in the future. Anyway, I love Hernst, and anyone who doesn't is a punk ass bitch. 
> 
> Leave comments about what you genuinely thought! Keep on reading! And follow me on tumblr at my NEW URL @/dietgaymags to see all of my content. THANKS GUYS. 
> 
> -Mags <3


	4. t h r e e

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gays talk about Shakespeare, bad words, and Latin homework. We love the gays.

The next day, the boys were right where they left off. Ernst laid down on his bed, his hair twinkling in the artificial light. He bounced a tennis ball off the ceiling and caught it, somehow keeping perfect rhythm. Hanschen tried to swing himself in the hammock without tipping it over. Twice, he had failed. This time he seemed like he was doing a better job.

“We need to do our homework,” Ernst said out of the blue.

Hanschen flipped out of the hammock again, hitting his head on the wooden floor for the third time. Ernst didn’t have to look at him this time---he’d already memorized the image---but the picture was perfect. He playfully pitched the ball in Hanschen’s direction, barely missing the back of his head.

“Bitch,” he said, sitting up on the floor, looking up at Ernst with his legs crossed. Honestly, it was the most domestic Ernst had ever seen him. “We don’t _have_ to do homework. Lame friends do homework together.”

“We’re not lame, are we?” Ernst asked, half serious. “But five long, torturous pages of Homer’s Iliad, twenty calculus problems, a map of Central America we need memorized---”

“---and two composer reports for music appreciation. I _know._ ” Hanschen rolled his eyes and managed to crawl his way back into the hammock. Unfortunately for Ernst, he didn’t try to swing again. Instead, he huffed and returned his gaze to the ceiling.

“You promised me you would help me with my calculus homework yesterday, but I don’t remember it ever happening.”

“We weren’t friends. We were classmates, and I had a question.”

Ernst feigned disappointment and muttered, “I’m Hanschen Rilow and I _never_ break my promises,” under his breath.   
Hanschen sighed and rolled over to face Ernst. “I’ll tell you what: we can do our homework together like a couple of saps, but only after a game of twenty questions. We have to get to know each other somehow.”

Ernst shrugged his shoulders and averted his gaze from anything in Hanschen’s general direction to hide his red face. “Well, we _are_ friends.”

“Exactly.”

Ernst blindly pitched the ball at Hanschen again, and this time he caught it. “Okay, Hanschen. Ask a question, then throw me the ball. One at a time until we each get to twenty.”

Hanschen rolled his eyes as a reflex to the corny YouTube-video-tag feel of all of it. But Ernst was smiling again and wiggling his eyebrows, and Hanschen felt a little lightheaded.  
“Fine,” he conceded, sitting cross-legged in the hammock. He set the tennis ball in his lap and figured in a split second that it would lead to his certain doom. “Uh, pssh, I dunno…” His voice trailed off, and for the first time in Hanschen’s life, he had nothing really to say. He couldn’t think of some witty, invasive question that would break Ernst at his very core. He didn’t want to bruise the child. “What’s your favorite color?” 

He managed to ask the most boring question on the planet. One of twenty.

“B-Blue,” he replied without a moment to think. “Yours?”

“Yellow, but that _doesn’t_ count as your question. Here.” Ernst caught the ball gracefully, almost like a ballet dancer. “One.”

“O-Okay.” Ernst rolled the ball between his palms as he thought, flitted his eyes to the left of him at the wall of books. “Favorite play?”

Hanschen nodded. _Good job, Ernst._ He was doing better than him, in any case. “ _Twelfth Night._ ”

“Really? _That_ one?” Ernst threw the tennis ball back to Hanschen in some sort of disgust. 

“Uh, yeah,” Hanschen said, scoffing. “To be fair, I played Malvolio last year, and it’s the shit.” He flashed his teeth at Ernst and batted his eyelashes. Hanschen was pretty used to being showered in praise. Ernst just nodded in acknowledgement. 

When he got no response, Hanschen mumbled under his breath, “And I’m trying out for _Othello_ next week.”

To that, Ernst got excited. He knew friends supported other friends, and seeing him in _Othello_ would be a nice way to strengthen their bond. “You mean, I get to see you onstage in tights and a crown?” he snickered. 

Hanschen snorted laughing. He knew Ernst probably didn’t mean to phrase his question like that---like “I get to see you in tight tights”---but the thought of him getting excited over that. It was too much not to laugh at.

“I guess so,” he replied. “I still haven’t picked out an audition monologue yet, and I’m stressing out a little.” With half a second’s hesitation, Hanschen threw the tennis ball across the room and made his way to the wall of books. “Help me,” he said to Ernst, filing through his copies of Shakespeare plays.

Ernst stood to his feet, confused but eager to help. “What kind of monologue are we looking for? And why can’t we just Google it?”

Hanschen didn’t answer, just continued to search for a play that would fit his audition perfectly.

“Okay, what role are you trying out for?”

Silence.

“Are you going for Othello?”

Hanschen let out a quick, “Ha! You wish,” but gave no response after that.

Ernst, frustrated, started scouring the wall with Hanschen, mere inches away from him. He huffed, and in doing so, smelled something absolutely divine. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he realized it was Hanschen. He tried to block it out of his mind as he placed a copy of _The Dumbwaiter_ back on the shelf, but it wasn’t happening. His cologne made Ernst’s eye want to roll back into his head. He was sure he had a problem.

“Th-That smells really good,” Ernst said, his words vomited out before his brain had time to process them. 

“What does?” Hanschen and Ernst faced each other, the first looking down at the other. Hanschen expressed nothing but confusion. 

“Your c-cologne?” Ernst feebly tried, but to no use. 

Hanschen said, “I’m not wearing any,” between breathy laughs. “I guess that’s just me.”

“Oh.” Ernst turned the same shade of red as the cover of _Macbeth._ Macbeth! “What about this one?”

Hanschen took the script out of Ernst’s hands and turned it over. With a sigh, he replaced it on the shelf. “Damn Scottish play,” he whispered. Ernst saw the lightbulb appear above his head. “Ernst,” he said.

“Hanschen.”

“Have you ever cursed?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“No. Never done it.”

“Not even in here, alone.”

“N-Not even in here, alone.”

“What are you mad about?” Hanschen asked. 

Ernst frowned and tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone’s mad about something, all the time, and it makes them want to scream.”

Ernst shook his head and opened another script whose name he didn’t check for. “Nope. I play the cello for that.” 

Hanschen turned to the cello, which rested sweetly against the wall. It was a pale blue, Ernst’s favorite color. The frets were worn down to almost nothing, and the bow was starting to fray. The strings looked like they had be wound and rewound because they kept snapping. How angry did this kid get?

“Henry!” Ernst exclaimed. “The speech Henry the V gives about the tennis balls!” Both of them turned to the tennis ball that made a home nestling in between the legs of the keyboard. Ernst handed the script off to Hanschen. “Memorize that. You’ll be good.”

Hanschen smiled and put the script in his bookbag. “Okay, I will.” For some reason, he had the instinct to trust Ernst without even reading the monologue. He just had the right idea, and Hanschen knew. “Now we have calculus to do.” Ernst smiled. “I don’t break promises.”

As Ernst got out his homework. Hanschen reflected on how he happened to land himself in this situation, all chummy with the token Christian crusader. He didn’t even believe in God or care to believe in him, and he was sitting at the right hand of God. The strangest part about it was that unless Hanschen forced it, the thought fazed him none. He felt just fine with this kid, who he was sure had a lot of problems of his own.

Ernst thought about the same thing watching Hanschen. In fact, he hadn’t _quit_ thinking about it since Hanschen had sat down next to him the morning before. He wondered what drew the boy to him. Maybe it was “doctrine,” sure. But the doctrine was settled, he thought. What keeps him here? Ernst felt like a charity case for the second time in his life. There was something _off_ , something too arrogant about Hanschen to make him seem like a genuine friend. And yet he dropped the persona when he talked to Ernst, or at the very least, he traded it out for amusement.

That made him all the more interesting.

“Alright, Ernst, do you know how to do a derivative?” 

For the next two hours, the two sat on Ernst’s bed, poured over every page of homework, and worked the problems out as best they could. Ernst stopped Hanschen often and asked him how to do things. Everything, really. He tried his best to be patient with Ernst, but his ego tended to show through. For someone who knew everything about the world above, Hanschen was amazed at how little he caught on to on Earth.

“Wait, s-sorry. Why would ‘Achilles saw’ be ‘videt’ and not _’video’_?”

Hanschen looked at the passage in question and translated it silently in his head. Achilles saw the enemy ahead of him. “Because ‘videt’ is a third-person verb, and Achilles is a third-person noun.”

“Then what’s a first-person noun?”

“Me, myself, and I.” He paused and looked in Ernst’s eyes. They were the same pale blue as the cello, and gleaming with hope. “We. Us.” Hanschen blinked once. “All first person nouns.”

Ernst nodded, finally grasping the question. “Oh, okay. Got it. How do you know all this?”

Hanschen shrugged. “It comes naturally, I guess. I’ve got a big brain.”

“I guess you do,” Ernst replied, huffing through his nose and returning to the passage.

They translated the rest of the passage shakily, stopping and starting like a passenger train: frequently and roughly. Every time Ernst got something wrong, he snapped his fingers and shook his head. He got angry frequently and roughly, like the passenger train.

Finally, with no provocation, Ernst whispered, “1.8.”

“What?” Hanschen asked. 

“I have a 1.8 GPA, Hanschen. I’m _failing_.” 

Hanschen closed the Latin textbook and laughed, shaking his head and staring at the ceiling. Ernst was heartbroken. Why was he laughing? Why was he laughing?   
“Wh-What, Hanschen?”

They locked eyes. Hanschen didn’t notice the hurt floating through the pale blue flecks. “I still can’t believe that you’re a fucking real human being,” he said, totally in awe. 

Ernst looked away. In that moment, he would have rather looked the devil in the face than Hanschen. He would have rather _spat_ in the devil’s face than looked at Hanschen. 

“We established that yesterday. Get to the point. I’m stupid, I’m less than you, I’m not as high and mighty as Hanschen Rilow.” The stutter had gone. 

Hanschen didn’t notice what he had said either. He didn’t notice that the words “I still can’t believe you’re a fucking real human being” could be taken two ways. Neither did Ernst. Hanschen sat there, glued to the bed, slack-jawed, unable to speak. What had come over him?

“What?” he asked.

Ernst rolled his eyes and stood. Within a second, he had flung open the door to the attic and stomped down the stairs. “I’m getting in the car!” he yelled, and Hanschen heard the dull slam of the front door a few seconds later. 

Hanschen was stuck. He couldn’t work up the strength to move, mainly because he couldn’t figure out what the hell he’d done wrong. He was admiring Ernst. He was _admiring_ Ernst and the fact that he wasn’t fucking perfect. He called himself perfect, he walked around as if he were perfect, but the welcome relief was that he was a fucking real human being. 

Was he embarrassed by it? Did Ernst think he was hitting on him and get scared? Hanschen closed his eyes and breathed. Snapped one of his bracelets against his wrist in time to his deafening heartbeat.

After a few minutes of silence, something crawled over his foot making him flinch. But instead of a bug or a mouse, when he looked down, Hanschen saw that damned tennis ball smiling up at him. He called it, that the tennis ball would be the cause of certain doom. He picked it up and rolled it between his palms like he saw Ernst do. 

What was the big obsession he had with Ernst anyway? It’s not like he was _special_ or anything. Wait, that was the problem. He was too special. Hanschen saw something special in him, and he couldn’t believe that he’d only met him yesterday.

“Shit.” 

Hanschen hadn’t heard Ernst come back in the house or stick his head through the attic door, but lo and behold. Ernst had the widest smile across his face, though still not showing any teeth. His face was as red as always, but it glittered with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Hanschen said, cradling the tennis ball.

“Fucking _shit_ ,” Ernst replied with a giggle. Hanschen couldn’t help but smile back. He sounded like a happy child not knowing one word coming out of his mouth. He looked at Hanschen and then the tennis ball. “Ask me a question.”

Hanschen ran his thumb over the surface of the tennis ball, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fuck you.” Ernst just laughed in response. “Are we going to be _those_ friends that have deep philosophical revelations every time they see each other?”

“Y-Yes,” Ernst said, trying to choke back another wave of tears. “I’m sorry. For blowing up on you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“You needed to blow up on me.”

Ernst stood on the top step of the attic stairs and sniffed. “Asshole. I’m gonna have to pray tonight because of you.”

"Me too, asshole."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I love these gays more and more as I write about them. You see how fast I'm updating. YOU KNOW. 
> 
> I relate so much to Hanschen and Ernst in their own special ways. And these characterizations are getting more in depth as the day goes on, wow. 
> 
> Dude, unrelated (kinda), but I read through my stuff sometimes to check for mistakes and I'm like "who tf wrote this" because I sound nothing IRL like I do in my writing. I sound so much more sophisticated and grown up, and IRL I'm like "what's up i'm gay, same"
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys like this. The way I'm looking ahead, it's looking like a 12/13 chapter work? I may try and stretch it out to 15 because the number seems to fit, but that's a rough idea of how long you're going to have to wait, you thirsty ass gays. 
> 
> It hurts me too, promise. 
> 
> Love ya! Follow me on tumblr @/dietgaymags. I'll be waiting. ;)
> 
> (ALSO COMMENT PLEASE SO I CAN IMPROVE MY SHIT)
> 
> -Mags <3


	5. f o u r

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ernst kills time while Hanschen auditions for _Othello._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself to wait a while before I started writing again, but here we are. Not even two days later. 
> 
> I need to stop.
> 
> Anyway, this one's a little shorter and just provides a little background on Ernst and his family, but not much because why would I be thorough? 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @/dietgaymags to keep up with everything that's happening. 
> 
> I'm just excited for the next chapter ok things are gonna get juicier.

The day of Hanschen’s audition rolled around, and Ernst’s ride home from school was a lot quieter. Hanschen had ridden home with Ernst every day since the two met, or Ernst would at least drop him off at his house. Hanschen introduced him to the wonderful world of Today’s Hits Radio just to shut up Chopin. 

Chopin was a welcome friend today. His waltzes made Ernst feel like he’d stuck his head underwater in the bathtub, muffling everything. The two tests he’d failed today didn’t matter; he was totally numb.

Ernst didn’t know what to do on his first day off in almost two weeks of having Hanschen throwing his feet up on his dashboard and folding in half because he’s just _so tall_. And complaining about his back hurting when he got himself into that situation. And Ernst laughing at him.  
He hoped Hanschen was doing well at the audition. He prayed that the monologue went well, and he didn’t stumble over his words or talk too fast or overact. Hanschen was trying out for Iago---typical. He found a comfort in playing the bad guy which Ernst would never understand. Getting to be the villain to Hanschen was an almost perfect contrast to Ernst, who was always out to play the hero.

Ernst liked to believe he saved lives. He liked to get home every Wednesday after a long, long day and lay down and stare out the window at the night sky and the three stars in it and smile because he accomplished something. Before school and after school, he _did_ something, which helped what was happening in between those times exponentially.

Even though it was a Friday, Ernst decided it would be a good idea to stop by the church and help out for a few hours---the moms probably needed the help setting up for Sunday, and it would be nice to escape back into his reality.

There were two cars in the church parking lot, excluding his own: his mom’s and Mrs. Gabor’s. Melchior and Moritz hung out there almost every day, always off by themselves in one of the offices doing their homework and talking. Ernst had no idea why Moritz wasn’t there, but there was no real reason to complain. They respected each other and were on good terms, but the word “friend” was a bit of a stretch. With Melchior, even less so. 

He parked in “his spot” next to his mother, and strolled into the church without thought, pure muscle memory. He was practically born and raised in this building, which was growing larger and larger every year. Construction crews had finished working on the new worship room two weeks ago, and all the furniture and aesthetic touches had been delivered over the past week. Ernst knew it was selfish of him to just now be joining in to help, since he had been off making friends. Even though his parents had designed the room themselves, Ernst hadn’t seen the new additions yet. 

Mrs. Gabor greeted him at the door with a giant, clay vase of flowers in her arms. “Hey, Ernst! Haven’t seen you in a while! Can you give me a hand with these?” She turned her head to reveal about fifteen more vases full of flowers in her office. He couldn’t believe how she got in and out of that small room with all of the flowers. 

But Ernst smiled his preacher smile, which everyone confused for his real smile at this point, and picked up one of the vases. It was _very_ heavy, but he couldn’t drop the smile. “Definitely. Where are we taking these?”

“Just outside. We’re going to line the front of the building with them.” Ernst wondered why the flowers made it to Mrs. Gabor’s office _inside_ to begin with, but he worked diligently like he was supposed to, helping her carry and arrange the assortment of flowers. The church had never been a place to ask too many questions.

Their hands were covered in dirt by the time they’d finished. “They’re so pretty,” said Mrs. Gabor, admiring their work. She wiped her hands on her shirt, leaving two lines of dust behind. 

“Yeah, they are,” Ernst said. He didn’t know what kind of flowers they were, but they smelled glorious and radiated warmth. There was something inviting about them that he couldn’t quite place. Again, he didn’t ask questions. 

He sensed the beginnings of a sunburn coming on. Next time Hanschen saw him, he knew he’d be laughed at. The one day he decides to come help with the church is the day he doesn’t wear sunscreen. 

“Your mom made lemonade inside if you want some,” Mrs. Gabor said, panting and sweating. Ernst agreed, and within a minute, both of them were in his parents’ office with a cold glass of lemonade. 

Ernst, in every aspect, was a younger version of his mom. Hanna Robel carried herself with such confidence and grace, a large preacher’s wife smile on her face at all times. Behind the doors of the church, she felt like the queen of a small kingdom. In every word she spoke, she meant the best for everyone around her; not one person in the congregation could recall an incident where she wasn’t looking out for someone’s best interest. As the pastor’s wife, she was the face of the church, and she wore the title well.

She and her son looked exactly alike as well, with the same curly, red hair and small frame. They were the exact same height, and though she was relatively tall, it made Ernst look much smaller. Ernst spent the majority of his time with his mom. For this, she trusted him with her life. She did her best to let him live his life. 

At first, she didn’t acknowledge Ernst or Mrs. Gabor when she entered the office with armfuls of copy paper. She just walked to the printer in the back, scanned a flyer, and hit print. Three-hundred copies. Another thing about her was her general optimism, which matched Ernst’s. She hoped for a large turnout at the reopening this Sunday.

“Hi, guys,” she finally said as the printer shot out new flyers like gunfire. “Ernst, where’s your tutor friend?”

Telling his mom that Hanschen was his tutor was maybe the closest thing to a lie Ernst ever said. Calling him a friend really wasn’t so hard, but frankly, Ernst was terrified that she would discourage him because Hanschen wasn’t in the “right crowd;” he left the friend part out. To be fair, Hanschen was _technically_ tutoring Ernst when they did their homework together, so it wasn’t wholly a lie. 

“He has an audition today,” Ernst said, taking a sip of his lemonade. It was more “-ade” than lemonade. She always made hers a little too sweet. “For _Othello_ at the youth theatre. He’s trying out for Iago.”

Mrs. Gabor and Mrs. Robel shared a look. The fact that Ernst had a tutor was no surprise---they both knew how his grades were suffering terribly---but the fact that he did theatre definitely raised some eyebrows. To their knowledge, the theatre dealt mainly with, well, _gay kids_ , something that neither Mrs. Gabor or Mrs. Robel was accustomed to or comfortable with. Perhaps all Ernst’s mom could be thankful for was the fact that the tutor wasn’t in a musical.

“Oh,” she said. For everyone’s sake, it was best to end that conversation there. “Well, where’s Melchior?”

Mrs. Gabor looked down at the floor and crossed her legs. “He’s completely refused to come to church. He says it’s all hypocritical. I don’t know if he’s trying to be some angsty radical and fight the system now that he’s a teenager, but I think it’s just a little ridiculous, don’t you, Hanna?”

“Maybe a little,” she replied, “but I’m so thankful to have a kid as faithful and devoted as Ernst. He’s on his way to becoming just like his father.”

Ernst didn’t know if his mother knew he was still in the room, but he gushed over being compared to his father. Pastor Robel were revered by almost everyone in town, and everyone knew his name in some capacity. He had everyone’s respect and respected everyone. When he spoke, his words spread like wildfire, engulfing everyone they touched. West Spring thought of him as their own messiah, come to save the town from the wretched hands of the devil. He and Hanna had built the church from the ground up, citing God as their strength the whole way. Ernst wanted to inherit the honor and glory of the church. The humility that he thought existed in the church. 

“Do you need any help, Mama?” Ernst asked. He prayed to God that she didn’t.

“No, you can go on home.” _Thank you, God._ “Moritz and his dad are coming by around seven to bring in the new pews, but we’re pretty much finished. Thank you for helping me, Ernst.”

He really smiled from ear to ear. Ernst Robel loved nothing in this world more than validation, not even God.

As he stood, his phone rang. Hanschen’s audition must be over. “Excuse me,” he said, slipping out into the hallway. He managed to answer on the third ring.

“This is _your_ fucking fault!” Hanschen yelled into the phone. Ernst thought his eardrum was bleeding. He blushed horribly even though Hanschen wasn’t even really there. At this point, it was practically a force of habit.

“Oh my G-God, I’m in the church,” Ernst whispered back. “Let me get in the car, and then tell me everything.”

“Fine, but I am so pissed off at you right now.”

“Wh-What did I do?” Ernst slammed his car door behind him and turned the key, making sure Chopin wouldn’t scare Hanschen. “One sec, I’m putting you on speaker. I’ll tell you when you can start saying bad words.”

As Ernst pulled out of the parking lot of the church, Hanschen sat on his bed, tapping his foot impatiently. He hummed a tune with no melody.

“Can I swear yet?” 

Ernst looked in his rearview to make sure the church was nowhere in sight. As soon as it faded into the horizon, he said, “Yes, you can swear.”

“I didn’t get the fucking part,” Hanschen said, “and I blame you for it.”

Ernst gasped. “Wait, you didn’t get Iago?”

“No!” Hanschen cried. “Fuck.” 

“I-I’m sorry. You were still cast in the show, though, right?”

Hanschen rolled his eyes to no one. He felt trapped in his clothes, so he kicked off his shoes. “Yes,” he said, thoroughly pissed. He swapped out his jeans for a more comfortable pair of pajama pants and abandoned the sweater altogether. Hanschen was glad to be by himself; he couldn’t imagine what shade of red Ernst would turn if he saw him now. 

“What role did you get?” Ernst giggled to himself before adding, “Desdemona?” 

If Ernst were there, Hanschen would have flipped him off. This was _not_ the time to joke around. 

“No, I didn’t get Desdemona, you asshole. I got Othello. It was your fucking monologue that got me Othello.”

Ernst slammed on the brakes, thankful no one else was on the road behind him, and covered his mouth with his hands. He received a little whiplash in the process. 

“Congratulations!” Behind his hands, the biggest, proudest smile formed. 

“No, not ‘congratulations.’ I wanted Iago.”

Ernst recovered and gassed the car again. “You can’t be mad. You’re the title role.”

“But I’m used to playing the bad guy, not the title role. Your monologue made me look like a noble king. Ugh, _fuck me_. Now I actually have to wear tights.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll wear tights too.” Ernst parked in his driveway. Hanschen snorted through the receiver, laughing with conviction. Ernst could hear the tinkling of his charm bracelets through the telephone. 

“You do that,” Hanschen said with labored breaths. “You know you’re obligated to help me with my lines, right?”

He wanted Ernst to put up some sort of argument, but he only replied with an enthusiastic, “Okay!” Hanschen rolled his eyes. He didn’t know why he expected anything more than that. Ernst was so happy to help all the time. “I still can’t believe you got Othello.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hanschen conceded, hanging up the phone. He laid back on his bed and spread out until he felt like he was floating on an ocean that just so happened to be the same pale blue as Ernst’s eyes.


	6. f i v e

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanschen has an off day, and Ernst is off wondering how he feels.

After Ernst finished his Wednesday morning sermon, Wendla Bergmann volunteered to pray again for the third week in a row. Seeing as there were no other volunteers, she prayed. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she began, and every word that came out of her mouth spread like butter. She had the vibe of a little kid out in the woods catching butterflies, but her words cut deep. 

“...As we go about our day, give us the strength to control all of our demons and keep our eyes pointed to You…”

Over the past three weeks, Ernst wanted to find something special in Wendla Bergmann. He searched and searched, knowing that someone so eager to praise God had a reason to be. He searched through her for _anything_ that could explain her enthusiasm. She grinned from ear to ear as she prayed. She was the only person Ernst had ever met who smiled when they prayed. 

“...Give us the eyes to see people who need our help, and let us glorify You in helping them…”

He felt drawn to her in some strange way, almost like a magnet. She was solitarily kind---just like Ernst, she stretched out her hand in hopes of touching hearts, but no one reached back to her. 

He told Hanschen about her the first instant he could, hoping to find some answer. 

“Do I _like_ her, H-Hanschen?” he asked in the courtyard at lunchtime, clutching the pit in his stomach. There was a pit there; it was relatively new, and someone needed to fill it. 

Hanschen leaned back casually onto his elbow, biting down on an apple. Ernst had his own that Hanschen had brought him, but the last thing he wanted to do was eat. He wouldn’t be able to hold a thing down. “I dunno, man,” Hanschen said, seeming not to care a whit. “Do you?”

“Why do you think I asked you?” He wasn’t being sarcastic, just a little panicked. 

“What makes you think you like her?” Hanschen looked across the courtyard and spotted her, Wendla Bergmann, sitting with Thea, Martha Bessell, and Melchior Gabor, giggling like an idiot at everything Melchior had to say. She was infatuated with him, that was sure. Hell, everyone at that table was fawning over Melchior Gabor. 

Ernst, he could clearly tell, was _not_ infatuated with Wendla. The panic in his eyes was simply an act of desperation to feel something for someone. God, his sermon this morning was about love (like always) and _companionship._ Hanschen had eavesdropped a few feet away just to listen to him speak, but he didn’t know. Sometimes you want to believe your own words, Ernst. 

“Well,” Ernst began, racking his brain for an answer. “We’re exactly the same, in essence. Sh-She’s devoted to God, she’s very nice, and she’s not really a people person. Just like me.”

“Wow. You’re practically twins,” Hanschen deadpanned, totally unamused. “Anything else?”

“I feel like there might be a magnet between us. That probably makes n-no sense, but in my head... Does that make sense?” 

Hanschen threw his apple core into the grass and leaned up, inching his way closer and closer to Ernst until they were mere inches apart. “You said you’re exactly the same?” he asked, to which Ernst nodded in response. “You both have the same poles. Like a magnet, right? You’ll”---he poked Ernst in the chest---”repel each other.”

Ernst nodded again dumbly. Why did he think he liked Wendla Bergmann? What were the reasons that people liked people? Was she pretty? Yeah, she was _pretty_ , but there was really nothing that made her stand out. She prayed three times. They’d never held a conversation, never so much as said hello to each other, and here he was trying to find an excuse to pine for her. 

Being lonely all your life makes you do crazy things, he thought. 

“What,” Ernst asked, “so opposites attract? Why?” He moved Hanschen’s hand off his chest and placed it back in its owner’s lap. Hanschen smiled. Ernst felt like he was being stared at. The air weighed down his lungs like a lead ball. 

“Because everyone needs someone to complement them. You can have too much of a good thing, you know.” At this point, he backed away, sensing that Ernst might be uncomfortable with him getting so close. But as soon as he backed up, Ernst moved closer. 

“Yeah, I get it,” Ernst said. He looked to his right and saw Wendla Bergmann chatting with her friends, and he felt nothing. No magnet. No sameness. He just saw a pretty girl with a nice attitude. When she looked back and the two made eye contact, nothing changed. He didn’t see into any portal that might guide him to love. Her eyes didn’t invade every fiber of his being like he hoped they would. He didn’t search for her either. 

“Hanschen, did you say that I was a ‘good thing?’” 

“Someone’s gonna love you at some point.”

Hanschen paused a moment and looked Ernst up and down. He was still off staring at Wendla, slightly disappointed that he still didn’t know how to feel anything. 

“Besides,” he added, “aren’t preachers supposed to draw people to them? Isn’t that, like, their whole goal?”

Ernst shrugged and returned to Earth, screwing his head back on his shoulders. 

“What are we doing today?” Ernst asked Hanschen after seventh period. Wednesdays, he discovered, were Hanschen’s only rehearsal-free days until performances started in November. He wanted to take advantage of the now-limited time he had with his friend.

Hanschen tapped his thumb against the roof of Ernst’s car, thinking. “You ever been to Tia’s?” he asked. Ernst had heard of it before. Tia’s was a seedy little diner on the outskirts of town, pretty much known for catering to no one but alcoholics and meth addicts past 6:00 P.M. It could seat _maybe_ six or seven people inside at a time, and even that was pushing it. Their burgers and fries, though, were apparently to die for.

“Uh, n-no,” Ernst replied. “You’re going to have to show me the way, though.”

Before he could say another word, Hanschen had taken his keys out of his hand and made himself comfortable in the driver’s seat. Ernst’s jaw dropped to the asphalt. 

“Come on, asshole! Let’s _go_.”

“I don’t think I trust you driving my car.”

“Why not?”

“Tell me when your car gets fixed and I’ll let you know.”

“One, not my fault. Two, I got it back three days ago.”

“Why am I driving you around then?”

“Free gas. And because you love me.”

Begrudgingly, Ernst opened his own passenger door and sat in his own passenger seat as Hanschen started _his_ car. “Please be careful,” he said. 

Hanschen drove slow enough to satisfy Ernst but fast enough to satisfy his need for fried food. He kept quiet for most of the ride there, mainly because the anticipation in his stomach had wound him up too tightly. Tia’s was Hanschen’s favorite spot---he often took afternoons to himself to sit in the corner booth, sip a hot cup of coffee, snack on a bag of fries, and watch the other customers around him live their worst lives. He always felt better about himself after an hour at Tia’s. The energy was so unique.

Ernst knew it was out of his comfort zone the second Hanschen parked. For starters, there was only one parking spot granting entrance to the diner. The stench of alcohol and bad decisions violated each of his pores to where he wanted to go home and bathe immediately. He gave a quick prayer to God as they entered; a little bell above the door celebrated their arrival. 

The greasy spoon called Tia’s definitely wasn’t exaggerating with the word “greasy.” Ernst felt dirty walking into the place, but seeing Hanschen’s wide smile calmed him down just slightly. There were two other patrons inside, one of which was having a lengthy conversation with himself. The other opened his eyes so slightly that Ernst thought for sure he was sleeping at the table. 

An old woman leaned against the counter with a hand on her hip and an apron around her neck. Across the apron was embroidered “Miss Tia” in bright pink thread stained with grease. An unlit cigarette hung out of her mouth, held between two of her few operational teeth. She lit up seeing Hanschen and ran around the counter to give him a hug.

“How are you today?” she asked, shocking Ernst with the articulation of her voice. She sounded more like a customer service rep than a smoker with a diner stuck in between two apartment complexes. “I haven’t seen you in forever! Where have you been?”

Hanschen hugged her back like she was an old family member. “I’ve been around. I tried out for _Othello_ last week. I’m Othello.”

She clapped and squealed and gave him another quick, tight squeeze. “Yes sir! You’re gonna be a big actor one day.” For the first time, her eyes caught Ernst’s. She looked him up and down like she would if Hanschen had brought a girlfriend inside. “And who are you?”

Ernst tried his best to put on his preacher persona, but the pressure and the smell of Tia’s diner fought it out of him. “Ernst R-Robel,” he stuttered out, a fake, lopsided grin on his face. He could feel the beads of sweat threatening to drip down his face. “I’m Hanschen’s friend.” 

He stuck out his hand to shake out of politeness, but Miss Tia went in for a hug instead. Every organ in Ernst’s body squeezed together like he was being strangled by a very kind-hearted anaconda. “Nice to meet you, Ernst! What can I get you fellas today?” She waltzed back behind the counter and punched some numbers in.

Hanschen treated them both to his usual, whatever that meant. “You’re not vegan, right?” he asked Ernst, who shook his head in response. “Good.”

They sat down in the corner booth and waited. Ernst would never admit that he _really_ enjoyed the one beam of light coming in through the window that warmed him right up. And Hanschen would never admit that the same beam of light caught Ernst’s hair at just the right angle to make him look like a halo sat atop his head. There were some things that needed the right time to be said. 

Like the fact that Ernst might be warming up to the place. He owed most of that to Hanschen’s excitement, but Miss Tia was her own kind of angel. So he released the unconscious tension in his shoulders, his jaw, his fists, and enjoyed himself.

“How are rehearsals?” Ernst asked, simply because the way Hanschen’s eyes lit up whenever he asked made him feel special.

Of course, those eyes did just that. “We haven’t really done much yet. Finished our table read yesterday. The people there seem really nice, though. I’ve never met most of them except for Otto Lammermeier and Anna Wheelan. You know them, right?”

Ernst knew Otto for sure; he was right on track to becoming valedictorian. He headed the football team and made sure everyone knew. He wasn’t a _bad guy_ or anything, but Ernst---like many people---thought he looked a little shallow on the surface. Maybe it was the envy speaking, or maybe it was truth.

Anna Wheelan, however, he was only vaguely familiar with. She may have been in one of his classes, but he couldn’t really remember. Hanschen continued to talk about her, and she seemed sweet enough, but Ernst definitely didn’t _know_ her.

“...and I think she might be into me?” Hanschen continued on his explanation of who Anna Wheelan was. “But who isn’t at this point?”

Ernst laughed a little too loudly for comfort, slightly out of the ridiculousness of what he said, and slightly out of embarrassment. When Miss Tia returned, she joined in herself. “What’s so funny, boys?”

“Oh, n-nothing,” Ernst said. 

The two ate and talked---Hanschen sometimes with his mouth full, which while disgusting, was endearing in its own little way---and ate and talked about everything and nothing until the sun started to set. Ernst learned that Hanschen feels very strongly about everything he does, and how he _loves_ playing Othello, mainly because they’re nothing alike. He went on this long rant about how Othello is more of a villain in the play than Iago because while Iago killed people out of pure evil, Othello killed someone who he loved very much. He was almost ecstatic that Bobby Maler got Iago instead of him.

And Hanschen learned that Ernst batted his eyelashes more when he talked about something he liked, which today was that he made a C on his calculus quiz, “all thanks to you!” He rubbed his thumb in the middle of his palm, too, almost like he was trying to read his future in it. And in those infrequent moments where Ernst couldn’t find anything to say, he ran his fingers through his angelic, glittering hair and huffed. Every day Hanschen found something more and more beautiful about him.

Maybe that was the beauty of Tia’s. Hanschen found something very, very beautiful in the most unlikely of places every time he went. Ernst was starting to learn that as well. They could’ve been smelling alcohol or roses in that diner and wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Hanschen could’ve been looking at a kid with a bit of a god issue or God Himself. Ernst could’ve seen an asshole with a bit of passion or that forbidden fruit he was just _itching_ to touch. 

Of course, he didn’t know it yet. 

But as the sun set and the golden hour fell upon them, the whole scene sparkled like King Midas had stopped by to kiss them all on the cheek. And Hanschen looked forward to his off days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We love a chapter that's a *little bit* all over the place.
> 
> But now that I have everything outlined out for the rest of this puppy, it should be smooth sailing from here on out!
> 
> I promise if something seems random, it will be explained in due time. In the meantime, happy reading! Please leave a comment telling me what you thought and how I can improve as the story goes on. 
> 
> Thank ya, love ya!
> 
> -Mags <3 (@/dietgaymags)


	7. s i x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ernst goes back to church because Hanschen has other friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! It's been a month, I _know_ , but this past month has been super busy. You can read my excuse at the end. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Hanschen texted Ernst simply and plainly: _”hey i cant come over tomorrow :(“_

Ernst replied just as plainly: _”Why not??”_

_”bobby invited me and the cast to go bowling and i wanna go”_

_”But I thought you were coming over?”_

_”i get out of rehearsal @ 3 oclock on sunday if thats cool”_

_”I have to help my dad after church on Sunday.”_

_”sorry :(“_

_”It’s fine.”_

Ernst had never been a spiteful person, but today was the day he was glad that text messages didn’t accurately portray inflection. Of course, it was absolutely wonderful that Hanschen had made other friends. All he wanted was for his friend to be happy. 

The only problem with any of that was that Ernst _had_ no other friends to go bowling with on his one day off. He could go home and stare at his homework and give up, spend a few hours tearing at the cello. He could go back to the church that hasn’t properly seen him on a Wednesday night in four or five weeks. He could then explain to everyone there---Thea, Wendla, Melchior, Moritz, Georg---that he’s been traipsing around with pretty boy Hanschen Rilow every Wednesday afternoon and still believed in God. Sure as Hell they’d believe that. The people at church would sooner believe that he killed a man. Moses did.

He’d gotten used to the whole friend thing. Seeing Hanschen every morning, every lunch period, every afternoon until way too late felt as routine to him as brushing his teeth before school. Going to church felt less and less common, and he felt more of an outsider than anything. To think that just a few weeks ago Ernst was this recluse of a human being who talked to literally no one was crazy. 

Hanschen was Ernst’s link to the outside world---not the outside world he’d been used to, the one where he played God and led people to salvation, but the outside world where he was being led to his own social salvation. He was starting to grow into his own self with a personality and a heart and a brain that didn’t operate on people’s praise. He liked it.

But Wednesday mornings and Wednesday nights he reverted back into what was now a stage persona: the charismatic preacher with the heart of gold and the mind of a _real vessel of God._ He could tell people that the world was going to end immediately after service, and they believed him. 

He had many admirers but zero friends.

That Wednesday evening, Ernst parked in the driveway of the church and felt anxiety for the first time. This was his home. He’d probably spent more time in this building, watching his parents build and shape it from the ground up, than he had in his own home. He came to God on his own time in his dad’s office when he was eleven. Every old lady who saw him on Sunday mornings gave him a big hug and asked him how he was doing in school and thanked him for being such a good Christian voice for this “lost generation.”

And now his hands shook as he killed the ignition. He couldn’t explain it, the now overwhelming fear of rejection or curiosity from everyone inside. Where have you been? What have you been up to? Have you _really_ been hanging out with _Hanschen Rilow_? His fears were hopelessly irrational, he knew, but he couldn’t help them.

Then a verse came to mind, Joshua 1:9: “Be strong and courageous,” he whispered under the stuffy air of his car. “Do not be afraid, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” 

His trembling hands seemed to still for a moment and his breathing seemed to steady out and he seemed to think straight, if only for a moment. He was going crazy. Hanschen was making him go crazy.

“Are you alright?”

Ernst jumped in his seat, his heart leaping out of his chest and through the windshield, onto the asphalt outside. He turned sharply to the window and saw Wendla Bergmann covering her mouth in shock. “I’m so sorry!” she yelled through her fingers. 

Ernst opened the door and got out, his first instinct to calm Wendla, not his own erratic breathing. “You’re fine,” he said, trying to laugh it off. “You just scared me. Wait, are you fine?” 

Wendla giggled to herself, clutching her chest with her heart. She placed her other hand on Ernst’s shoulder to hold her feet on the ground. “I’m okay.”

“Oh,” Ernst said, not entirely sure how to respond. “Well, I am too.” 

The two stood there in awkward silence for a moment, laughing in between inappropriately long spells of quiet. Ernst felt quite uncomfortable. He was never good at talking to people when it didn’t involve the Father, Son, or Holy Spirit. Especially other people like him. _Especially_ people that just days earlier he thought he developed a crush on.   
But when Wendla put her hand on his shoulder, he felt nothing. Not that rush of warmth or comfort he thought he would feel if he was in love. To be honest, Hanschen’s discouragement hadn’t entirely dissuaded him from thinking he had a crush on Wendla. This encounter was assurance enough; Ernst did _not_ like her like that.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Wendla said, walking off toward the church. “Melchi and Georg are here too. Thea’s on her way. And I think Moritz’s sick---he wasn’t at school today. That’s why I checked on you. You looked a little sick.” She stopped in her tracks right outside the front door. “C’mere,” she said. 

Ernst hesitantly stepped closer to Wendla until they were inches apart. He realized then that he was barely taller than she was. When Hanschen made fun of how short he was, he never really took notice of it. Now he couldn’t think about anything but his height. 

She placed the back of her hand against Ernst’s forehead; it was ice cold, much in the way that your mother’s hands are cold. She smiled and sighed in relief. “No fever?” Ernst asked, laughing.

“Nope, you’re good.” Her smile got bigger, and she took Ernst’s hand in her cold one, swinging open the church door with the other. “Come _on_!”

She skipped when she walked and probably didn’t even know. But Ernst noticed that little, almost invisible hop in between steps and kind of loved everything about it. Not in a weird, gushy, romantic way. More like an I-think-you’re-okay kind of way. Hanschen was making new friends; why couldn’t he? He thought it might be worth a little effort, at least to have a friend more like him.

Wendla led him down a few all-too-familiar hallways, which now felt like some he was being guided through a maze by some sort of fairy creature. She was so small and fragile and sweet. She was hauntingly perfect. Eventually, they ended up in the music room, where Georg Zirschnitz plucked out a few notes on the baby grand sitting in the middle of the room. Melchior Gabor lay upside down on the sofa with his legs thrown over the top, strumming his guitar half-heartedly. They all sensed his hatred of the church and everything in it. Still, he played on. 

All of the church kids (sans Ernst) spent most of their time in the music room, pretending to practice and playing all of the instruments instead. Once, they were caught: Moritz tried to shoot a few communion wafers out of a tuba, and everyone in the worship room heard him. No one questioned why a tuba was in the music room in the first place. Moritz just got in trouble. For a few weeks after that, they were all perfect little Christian kids, but their musical exploits started up again soon after. 

Melchior and Ernst caught eyes for a moment in the middle of the riff he was playing. In a second, Melchior had perked up, set his guitar aside, and flipped over on the sofa until he was staring Ernst dead in the face. He looked at Ernst like a mouse living in the walls he’d heard scratching around for weeks but hadn’t seen in months. That was pretty close to the truth.

“Welcome back, man,” he said. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” He wore a grin halfway between sadistic and concerned. Melchior Gabor reaped the benefits of the church without actually doing anything. He wore the badge of honor that came with being one of the “good kids,” but he fell asleep every service or wrote slam poetry in his diary. Ernst mentally rolled his eyes every time someone fawned over him; Melchior was more angst than anyone should ever hope to handle with zero redeeming qualities.

Wendla’s eyes lit up when she saw him. “I know, right?” she responded in Ernst’s place. Her voice was considerably higher pitched. Oh, poor kid. “Where have you been?” she asked Ernst. All he wanted to do was curl her up in a hug and protect her from all the bad in the world. She deserved none of it.

But instead he just sputtered, “Uh, t-t-tutoring,” like he’d blown a gasket. “I’m kind of f-failing math,” he added. “So I, uh, I got a tutor.” 

“Who?” Georg butted in, spinning around on the piano bench. “I’ve been looking for one, but I’m broke as hell.”

“Georg, _I_ tutor,” Melchior said, throwing his guitar pick his general direction. It barely grazed the side of his head. “I’ve asked you if you need any help, but you said, ‘No, Melchi! I’m doing just fine! I’ll manage! I hate you, Melchi!”

“Yeah, but you charge too much. I have no money,” he enunciated. Melchior rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “So,” he continued, returning to Ernst, “who is it? And how much does he or she charge?” God, Georg was a weird character. 

Ernst debated telling them regardless. The obvious fears over reputation hovered in the air, only amplified now that he was face to face with the other church kids. Wendla would be confused, probably, confused that the pastor’s son is best friends with an open atheist. Georg honestly wouldn’t care. His brain constantly floats around from one thought to another, trying and failing to concentrate on anything in particular. Ernst didn’t know how Georg even existed, really; he didn’t seem like a real person. And Melchior would judge him the most of all. It sounded strange, since Hanschen and Melchior probably matched closest in personalities and religious ideology. But Melchior always thought theoretically. 

Theoretically, Ernst was the preacher’s son, and preacher’s sons are never the shining stars that they pretend to be on the surface. And theoretically, Hanschen was at least half gay. And theoretically, tutoring sessions and study dates are covers for, well, you know. And oh my God, Ernst had never thought of it like that before. 

“Uh, Hanschen Rilow?” His mouth spoke before his brain had the chance to stop him. Of course, Melchior’s mind went right to where Ernst hoped it wouldn’t, but Ernst didn’t know. Melchior’s expression never changed, but the gears turned. 

Georg nodded solemnly. “Huh, I’ll have to text him and ask him. He any good?”

“Yeah.”

Wendla smiled, no trace of worry or anxiety or anything on her face. “Good for you!” she said, taking a seat next to Melchior on the sofa. Ernst was pleasantly surprised. He felt he had psyched himself out for nothing, which was mostly true. 

Thea pushed open the door of the music room. “Ernst?” she asked, and he turned his head. She looked the most put together of the bunch of them, having redone her makeup and gotten more dressed up for church. She radiated light and positivity. As Wendla’s closest friend, Ernst didn’t expect anything less. “You still exist.”

“Daddy let him out of his office,” Melchior snorted at his double entendre. Ernst felt sweat beading on his forehead. 

“Don’t be _mean_ ,” Wendla butted in, crossing her arms. Melchior furrowed his brows and laughed a little. “This is why he doesn’t hang out with us.” She grabbed Ernst and Thea by the hand and led them out of the music room like a fairy again. "We're leaving, Melchi!" She yelled as the door shut behind them.

Thea and Ernst shuffled along as Wendla led them through hallways without a word. “Where are we going?” Thea asked, but her friend didn’t respond. 

Soon they were greeted by the dim pre-sunset sky reflecting off the cars beautifully. The parking lot was much fuller, the empty spaces filled with an eager congregation. Couples old and young were ushered into the worship room, Bibles tucked into their arms and an openness in their hearts. 

Wendla opened the door to her car and told everyone to get in. “We’ve got thirty minutes till the service starts, and Melchior’s being mean. Let’s go get slushies.”

No one dared question Wendla; Ernst just jumped in the backseat, and Thea called shotgun. She peeled out of the church parking lot with a loud. Ernst was scared. Thea seemed unfazed. “This is normal,” she said. 

“Okay,” Ernst said, gripping the seat for dear life. “Cool.” He liked Wendla and Thea well enough. They were very happy people. Ernst needed a little positivity. He needed to enjoy himself. 

Hanschen was enjoying himself with Anna and Otto and Bobby Maler, “the one with the really nice ass.” Ernst deserved other friends too.

He loosened his grip on the seat and leaned back into it. “This is the ultimate friendship-defining question,” Wendla said, turning without putting on her blinker. Despite all the alarms going off in his head, Ernst didn’t mind. She was careful enough and no one was around. “Blue raspberry or cherry slushie?”

Thea turned around in her seat and glared at him playfully. Ernst couldn’t help but giggle. “Blue raspberry,” he answered without hesitation. 

“Right answer,” said Wendla, smiling. She peeked at him in the rearview mirror. He smiled back. “Don't get too excited. Next time you're paying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to flesh out everyone's character as this goes on. (Spoiler! You'll see a lot more of everyone as time goes on...)
> 
> I'm almost halfway through with this little project?? Which is a little heartbreaking but also very sweet bc this is the farthest I've gotten with a project in forever. 
> 
> Anyway, I don't know how frequent updates will be. They won't be a month apart anymore because that's just too long and unfair, but I have school work to catch up on and boyfriends to snag. This past month has been crazy busy---I turned 17, wrecked my car, started talking to this really, really, _really_ pretty 20 year old, etc. etc. I've been living that almost adult life. So this has kinda slipped my mind. I've gotten lazy.
> 
> But I LOVE you guys and I am so grateful for all the love this story's gotten! I love writing (but hate reading my writing) so it's awesome to see someone cares lol. I'm glad you like it! Don't forget to comment on how you like it and let me know how your day's going by messaging me on Tumblr @dietgaymags. 
> 
> Love ya love ya love ya


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